


Scapegoat

by meetmeatthecoda



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: 6.12, Angst, Drabble, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Lizzington - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 03:19:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20037046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meetmeatthecoda/pseuds/meetmeatthecoda
Summary: "He doesn't see it coming and that's his first mistake."Angsty drabble on the 6.12 scene where Aram punches Red. Lizzington.





	Scapegoat

He doesn’t see it coming and that’s his first mistake.

It’s more the shock than anything that has him stumbling. But to think that Red actually came to trust these people of Lizzie’s, consider them a team, his friends. Harold, Samar, even the hesitant, intelligent Aram, who always speaks to him with the fearful respect of “Mr. Reddington”.

The same Aram who Red has now hurt beyond repair.

Aram who will never forgive him.

Red can’t say he’s surprised.

(No one ever stays.)

But what Aram will never understand is how much it hurts Red to hurt him. Red doesn’t _want_ to cause him pain.

(He doesn’t like hurting people.)

He wasn’t lying when he said he tried to talk Samar out of it. He spent as long as he could trying to dissuade her from leaving Aram, knowing how heartbroken he would be.

(Because Red knows what it feels like to have someone he loves leave him. The woman in the warehouse with him right now has done it more times than he can count.)

But Samar was adamant. She loves Aram too much to put him through everything she knows is coming. And Red would be lying to himself if he said he doesn’t wonder what that feels like. That kind of sacrificial love. After all, no one has ever sacrificed their happiness for his wellbeing. Usually, it’s the opposite.

Because that’s _his_ job.

(And while he doesn’t necessarily blame Lizzie for the hard choices she’s had to make because of him, that doesn’t make the deep wounds she’s inflicted bleed any less.)

But Samar left and Aram will never forgive him and now he’s lost someone else he tried to care for and really, what’s new?

(Nothing at all.)

Now Aram is stalking out of the warehouse before Red can do or say anything else, but he knows there’s no point. There’s nothing he can do to make anything about this better. Except bring back Samar. And Aram won’t stop to hear him say he would if he could.

(Because what he _would_ do doesn’t matter. Only what he’s already done. However much he regrets it.)

For an absurd moment, Red’s eyes sting as well as his cheek. How ridiculous, crime lords don’t cry over the people they’ve hurt.

(At least, not in front of anyone else.)

So, Red angrily pushes away the sadness and focuses instead on the heat of his face. It’s a superficial wound - he doubts it will leave much of a mark - but it smarts all the same, his cheek on fire from the blow and the other one matching it from sadness and shame.

(Aram punched harder with his words and the look on his face than he did with his fist.)

But Aram is a slight man and Red has taken more than his fair share of hits. After all, that’s all he is, someone to be beaten on, blamed when things go wrong. A punching bag.

(A scapegoat.)

And it’s not often that he wants to run and hide, but there are too many feelings warring for dominance inside him right now. Sadness, irritation, anger, frustration, more sadness, and he just can’t handle this right now, he’s too—

But then there’s a cool hand cupping his cheek, easing the burn there, and gently turning his face until he’s looking directly into Lizzie’s disarmingly blue eyes, her brow furrowed in concern for him.

(And well. He didn’t see that coming either.)

Her touch is a salve to the burning on his face – something he certainly doesn’t miss the irony of – and she peers into his eyes, worried for him, while her thumb strokes over the sore apple of his cheek, and he can only close his eyes helplessly.

(And he aches to let her hold his head, just lay it on her chest, her lap, her feet, anywhere she’ll allow, and _just rest_ because he’s so tired of letting people down, destroying their dreams, being their worst nightmare.

He’s so tired of being a monster.)

But Red can feel the curious eyes of Harold and Donald, not to mention the watchful gaze of Dembe, and this is not the time nor the place to have a breakdown. Not here. And not in Lizzie’s arms.

When Red opens his eyes, Lizzie is still looking at him, trying to ask the question she doesn’t want to voice in front of her team. But Red can only gaze silently back at her, try to convey the sheer exhaustion he feels, the regret coursing through his veins at causing Aram pain, and most of all, the comfort he takes from her touch.

He can only hope she understands. And he thinks she does because, upon seeing the look on his face, her brow furrows further, her lips part, and she takes a step closer to him to do god knows what and no, he just can’t do this right now.

(He hopes she understands that too.)

Instead, Red stops her by reaching up to press her hand to his face for one last cool, blissful second before he pulls it away, gentle but firm. But the crease between her brows deepens at the action and, unable to help himself, he impulsively tugs her hand back to his face to press a brief but searing kiss to her palm, holding her gaze all the while.

(He pretends not to hear her quiet gasp and numbly adds it to the list of things he can’t handle here in this warehouse.)

But it’s all he can do. And to hell with the others. He doesn’t care if they see.

And now he has to leave.

So, Red breaks away from Lizzie, regret heavy in his heart, and turns without a word to stride out of the warehouse, knowing Dembe will follow like his shadow. It’s time for him to retreat to lick his wounds in privacy, grieve, and reappear unaffected the next day.

That’s his role.

He must be invincible, unaffected. Callous.

(And that couldn’t be less like the person he truly is, the person he wants to be, and he can only hope that the people dearest to him know that. Dembe.

Lizzie.)

But he will take the pain and the hurt to protect the people he cares about, without complaint, without a word to anyone, because that’s who he is.

(That’s all he is. That’s all he’s ever been.)

He’s just a scapegoat.

And he kicks himself all the way out of the warehouse, the door slamming behind him, because he did it again. Every time, it’s always the same. His worst mistake?

He never sees it coming.


End file.
